


& i'm counting every piece of my heart

by loudamy



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: B99 Summer 2020 Fic Exchange, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, god i miss them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26430676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loudamy/pseuds/loudamy
Summary: 5 snapshots of summer as lived by jake & amy.i. honeymoon nightsii. mac's first birthdayiii. doug judy's weddingiv. early relationshipv. family saturdays
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Comments: 15
Kudos: 77
Collections: Summer 2020 Fic Exchange





	& i'm counting every piece of my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmyDancepantsPeralta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyDancepantsPeralta/gifts).



> for renee <3 i combined 2 of your prompts, honeymoon nights & five top summer moments. i hope you like it!
> 
> fic title is from 'lofi' by jw francis
> 
> may have been slightly creative w the timelines here but so is the show lmfao

**i. oh, she tastes like sunlight**

Married life with Jake proves to be love in every flavour, Amy mulls, entwined around him in a post-sex stupor. They’ve made the most out of their time - and their room - since Holt finally let them be, and the prospect of an entire week, just she and Jake, stretches gloriously in front of her.

Now though, she couldn’t be more satisfied with the present: milky evening hues, satin sheets, and of course, Jake sex hair. Fluffy, dishevelled, falling languidly atop his forehead until she rakes it back with tired fingers.

His eyes are at half-mast, shoulder draped around her, dopey on sun and wine. He’s a beautiful mess, and she’s infinitely alight with that tiny thrill, that she’s done that to him, that nobody else can undo him like she can.

‘Hey, remember that incredible time last Christmas Eve, when you got home super-horny because you came in under budget for all your gifts?’ Jake ponders into the silence.

Amy huffs a laugh between breaths. ‘I remember your stupid joke that my clothes were half-off.’ She doesn’t need to turn to him to know that Jake is grinning reminiscently. He’d been so proud of that joke he barely noticed what Amy was doing until he heard his shirt rip.

‘Oh yeah. That was awesome.’ Jake snorts, then blinks, flopping onto his side. ‘Well, this was way better than that.’

‘So…married sex, better than engaged sex and reunion sex? Or are they just not comparable?’ Amy wonders, to her husband’s resulting laughter.

‘All of our sex is my favourite.’ Jake says sleepily, but then, sensing she’s not entirely satisfied with this answer, adds ‘but married sex is doper than dope.’

‘Well, this is _technically_ consummation sex.’ Amy props herself onto his chest and smiles contemplatively.

‘Ooh, babe, you know I love it when you get technical.’ he teases, and she laughs, but only for a second because she’s been rocking gently against his leg for the past minute or so and his body has already taken notice.

Jake pins her wrist against the sheets, clumsily interlocking their fingers before bringing his mouth down to slant over hers. Each kiss is slow, as though infused with love, and yet the new weight of her rings against his fingers is viscerally new.

With her free hand she grips his cock and squeezes until his breath comes out in stutters and he writhes a little on top of her, rutting against her leg in search of more friction.

‘Amy-’ his voice is immediately rough, not a trace of the sleepy satiety from a few moments ago. They’re not even halfway through the sex tab in her binder and he doesn’t know how he’ll ever get to the end, he’s already so undone. (He just wants all of it, all of _her_ ).

She reaches for the wig, but Jake grabs her wrist and artfully rolls them so he’s on top, settling heavily between her thighs.

‘You as a hotter Holly Gennaro was like all of my fantasies in one. But right now, I want to have hot consummation sex with my wife.’

Amy looks back at him, gaze so heady, it’s dizzying to be here in this room with this woman, his best friend, who he’s _married_ and her hand is trailing his dick and pumping until he breathes in short, sharp bursts.

‘Uh-uh. Wanna love you first.’ he captures her hand and kisses the ring, before his head dips lower, sucking mildly on her clavicle. Butterfly marks, just between the two of them.

‘Every day I’m thankful for your boobs.’ Jake says, thrilled when Amy laughs breathlessly. At first his touch is idle, the rough underside of his thumb skirting her ribcage, but then he presses his mouth to her breast and his tongue skims the cool skin. The sensation has her careening back to sobriety with a moan.

Jake takes his time, working her up, murmuring interchangeably adoring and dirty things in her ear. It’s quintessential Jake; loving and affectionate in how he handles her, even when he’s hurtling her closer and closer to release.

‘God, I love you,’ he breathes into the warmth, laying fluttering kisses all the way down to her abdomen, where he starts murmuring revelry against her thigh.

His fingers are newly calloused from sensual pottery and they feel so good curling inside of her. His movements are slick, and he has that hyper-focused gleam in his eyes that she could almost come from alone, teeth bared to graze against her skin as she moans.

He doesn’t need to ask what she likes because he knows, just as he knows every alcove of her body, but he lets her guide him through it anyway. ‘Yeah, you like that…’

‘Jake, I need you to-’ Amy’s frustrated, like when she’s locked in that inscrutable moment before solving a case, and he loves it, loves her riled and unravelled and whining at his doing.

‘Is that what you want?’ he murmurs into the soft apex of her legs.

‘Jake-’ he knows from her strangled voice and the way she’s trembling at his fingertips that she’s close and it tears at him a little.

‘I don’t need to be inside you to make you feel good.’ Jake says, unable to resist teasing her even when they’re in the most intimate of situations, but he rewards her with a third finger, flicking her clit between them.

‘Just - don’t stop that.’ Amy instructs him, which of course was his goal all along.

He continues to caress her inner thighs, and then, impatient, she’s gripping his hair and leading him to where she wants him most. He’s only happy to oblige, wrapping his tongue around her clit which has Amy in beautiful turmoil.

She curves into his touch, tugging his hair as he steadily licks and circles her clit with his middle and index fingers, rapid strokes in tandem with her soft whimpering.

It only takes another minute of his deliberate ministrations until he suddenly increases the pressure and she’s gasping, coming on his tongue- ‘Jake, right there, fuck!’ - and then he’s leaning over to kiss her through the comedown.

‘You look so pretty when you come, honey.’ Jake says as he resurfaces next to her, loving how he can still make her blush, revelling in it. He flops onto his back and chuckles, raspy from exertion. ‘Especially when you scream my name like that.’

‘Jake!’ Amy huffs, without any real bite.

‘I made sure we got a corner room, we’re good.’ says Jake, with utterly fake nonchalance. Any excuse to impress Amy with organisation: he’ll take it.

‘You did?’ it’s hard to sound incredulous when he’s just made her come that hard, but this is a man who lived without renters’ insurance for most of his adult life.

‘Has to be good enough for my wife.’

‘The best husband,’ she tells him, and means it, but he doesn’t have much time to dwell because she’s reaching for him again, finding him hot and hard and judging by the noises he’s making, _wanting_. He bites his lip in anticipation but she worries it between her teeth without mercy, a move so familiarly _Amy_ that his heart is clenching in a different way.

Her strokes are lazy at first - she likes to tease him, and he loves her for it - but one hand slyly stops as she shifts to straddle his lower thigh.

Amy presses her right hand just above his heart to steady herself and instantly he covers it with his own, threading their fingers together. ‘Love you,’ she says, and then the silk of her hair is teasing his thighs and she’s tracing her sentiment on the head of his dick.

It’s the sweetest kind of payback. Amy swipes her tongue experimentally down his shaft and Jake’s mouth falls open in pleasure. Her touch is far from unfamiliar but still his blood simmers underneath it, pulsing against each fingertip.

Sometimes she lets him dictate the rhythm, but right now, it’s Amy in control, and Jake lets her know that he’s ‘absolutely there for it’. Amy takes him deeper into her mouth, her hands working him at the base while she begins to suck, and he’s devoid of any thought but the sensation of her dropping kisses on the head of his cock.

He’s sweating and swearing and fumbling hands in her hair, tightening a stray hand momentarily around her neck because that always elicits a favourable reaction. He’s completely wrecked by her, for her.

‘Amy, baby-’ he’s barely coherent, eyes screwed tightly closed, but it doesn’t matter, Amy can’t talk. Her lips are swollen around his dick and her hands are roving his length with abandon and he’s uttering her praises over and over, entire body convulsing in pleasure.

‘Ames-’ he manages, and she stops, slides him out of her mouth, querying. Other times, he’d happily let her suck him off to completion, but not tonight. Jake tilts her head up, meets her in a hard kiss, pulls her back down with him.

‘Don’t wanna come without seeing your face.’ Jake tells her, and Amy lets him roll them so he’s on top. He’s trapped against her leg and twitching and he knows he can’t hold out much longer.

‘I want to be close to you like this.’ he continues: she shudders against him, only able to mumble ‘Jake, please…’

He blinks back at her and she nods, surging upwards for a fleeting kiss. Finally, finally, he takes himself in hand and tantalisingly pushes into her; both of them keening at the sensation.

‘Want to fall asleep next to you every night for the rest of my life,’ Jake breathes as he starts to thrust, sliding a finger down balmy skin till he reaches her clit. Amy arches her back to a low groan, her foot feverishly rubbing against his leg.

She’s flushed and beautiful underneath him; it’s an image that never fails to give him pause, one that burns in his mind’s eye at any given time.

‘Gonna…watch you put on that captain’s uniform every morning and rip it off you every night.’ he’s moving inside her slowly, with every inch of the love he has for her, willing it into every word.

‘Rip?’ Amy tenses. Jake laughs wryly into her neck, layering kiss after kiss at the sensitive nape. So consistent. ‘Not the buttons, babe. Always protect the buttons.’ he soothes.

‘Jake, _please_ …’ she whines. ‘Babe, I love the romantic sex but right now I just want you to fuck me.’

Jake’s never let her down before and he doesn’t now: he slams into her, thumb buried in her hip-bone, hands enclosed around her waist. Amy raises one shaky hand behind her to the headboard to steady herself as she tilts into him and the thrill of being at his control.

‘I want all of it…’

She loves that voice, debauched, barely audible over the dull thudding of the headboard and their haggard breathing. It’s Jake at his most vulnerable, a phenomenon she knows is hers and hers alone.

She lifts a weak leg to his shoulder and Jake’s eyes, blown wide and liquid, darken in understanding as he catches the thigh and holds it in place as Amy grasps his shoulder and squeezes. The change in angle makes them both groan, deep and guttural.

He wraps his hand around her hair and softly tucks it behind her head. The movement is tender and deliberate, such a contradiction to the way he’s roughly pounding into her. Jake knows she hates her hair getting caught during sex, and it’s these subtle markings of love that she’ll always hold onto.

There’s a sudden sprig of clarity in the haze, that she’s really getting railed by her husband on their honeymoon and she’s probably going to have to call and bump up their dinner reservations, oh, and said husband really researched how to roleplay as a nineteenth century librarian just to make her happy.

She’s hurtled back to reality by Jake’s fingers thickly bruising her thighs every time he thrusts up to meet her. They’re both close, she can feel it, and when he scrapes a knuckle against her clit like _that_ it’s over: she comes, comes hard, with a gasp.

Jake follows seconds after, coming hard with a shout to one final thrust until he relaxes into her, shoulder muscles softening under her fingers. ‘Consummation sex, totally noice,’ he says breathily, to which they both laugh.

Ever the sloth and determined to be held after sex, Jake takes her through the aftershocks, his head and arms heavy on her chest.

‘Don’t get me wrong, this room is amazing. But I miss our sheets.’ Amy says, wriggling closer into his space. ‘And my weighted blanket.’

‘ _I’m_ your weighted blanket.’ Jake complains, edging limbs across her body to demonstrate.

‘Hmm, hold me then.’

Jake doesn’t argue, just accepts her into his arms with his nose pressed to her hair, mussed from his fingers and yet no less perfect. They might be miles away from their little Brooklyn apartment, but Amy somehow makes everywhere feel like home.

**ii. beautiful boy, darling boy**

It’s a wonder to Jake that as summer draws to a close, his son could be turning a whole year old when it feels like yesterday he was circling the edge of a tiny foot against Amy’s belly and speculating if it was normal to love someone that much already. Now he’s watching his son hauling his baby walker around their bedroom and laughing every time he trips. (Jake’s starting to think Mac is tripping on purpose to get extra cuddles from Amy. He can’t blame him).

‘Another year, another host of great stuff to introduce him to. Do you think he’s too young for the trampoline park?’

‘Maybe just a bit.’ Amy kisses the side of his mouth and resumes shuffling through party invitation samples. They want to keep his birthday small but special; just a handful of family and friends at their apartment. This, according to Amy, is no reason to skimp on the details.

‘Hey, Mac, c’mere.’ Jake calls, and Mac at once abandons his walker and toddles straight over to Jake, arms outstretched for a hug or a piggy-back or maybe a rendition of their new favourite game which involves Jake tipping Mac upside down and dangling him down his back and both of them laughing uproariously.

‘Do you know what next week is?’ Jake says, tickling Mac with his nose, a trick their son loves.

‘Twos-day?’ Mac guesses. Amy beams, obviously pleased that the days-of-the-week interactive DVD she got him is a hit.

‘Yes, Tuesday is next week.’ says Jake, bouncing Mac on his knee now. ‘But there’s something extra-special happening too.’

‘Your birthday, baby.’ says Amy brightly, holding up a deflated ninja turtles balloon; Mac’s eyes light up (‘Leo!’) and he starts jumping up and down on Jake.

‘Birfday?’

‘A whole day, just about you.’ Jake says. ‘Your day.’

‘My day?’ Mac repeats, processing this with great diligence.

‘Is there anything you want?’ Amy sets aside her invitations and splays her legs to meet Jake’s, so Mac is trapped in a diamond between them.

As it turns out, there’s only one thing he really wants - a fireman’s hat. ‘As long as Boone never finds out’ is Jake’s philosophy, Amy reasons that ‘anything to stop him stealing my bras to use for his turtles costume’ can’t be a bad thing.

On the way home from their present-shopping spree - both Jake and Amy refuse to feel guilty for spoiling Mac, given it is his very first birthday and only other things he asked for were ‘more cuddles from mommy and daddy’ and ‘chocolate milk’ - they go card-shopping.

Jake, usually not so discerning over these things, pores over the birthday card selection for longer than he takes to choose his sneakers in the morning. ‘It has to be perfect. I want him to remember this day in ten years and think he had the coolest parents ever.’

‘He already thinks that.’ Amy rests her chin on his shoulder and gives his shoulder a bracing squeeze. ‘Jake, he loves you so much. All he wants is to be like you.’

‘Jungle Book, nailed it.’ Jake says softly, but he relaxes into her touch. ‘How about this one?’

‘He loves that Paddington Bear book, doesn’t he?’ Amy sniffs. ‘It’s perfect.’

Inside it, Amy writes _To our little marvel_ , and blinks up at Jake with tear-jewelled eyes. He writes a messy paragraph that Amy will read to Mac in place of his usual bedtime story and will eventually end up in the baby scrapbook she’s been making.

x

Although Mac doesn’t entirely understand the concept of his birthday, he basks in the attention nonetheless. He’s all Jake pounding over to the door to greet a new guest and wonderfully Amy in graciously accepting his presents and stacking them neatly by size in the corner.

‘I have to say, you’ve outdone yourself, Amy.’ Kevin says, watching a blindfolded Mac teeter towards a ‘pin-the-shell-on-the-turtle’ on the other side of the room.

‘Thank you,’ says Amy, beaming. ‘Cake?’

‘My wife is a perfectionist,’ Jake says, with the resident spark in his eye that signifies a humble brag. ‘Which is a great thing, when it comes to stuff like planning birthday parties, or picking a husband.’

Meanwhile, Holt is engrossed in conversation with Cagney, who is critiquing his decision to name his dog after a cheese when there are, she argues, much better foods out there.

‘She’s right, you know.’ Jake pauses on his way to fetch Mac a drink.

‘Even a broken clock is right twice a day.’ Holt says, disdainfully. Kevin tactfully leads him away whilst Terry distracts Cagney with a cocktail sausage.

The attention turns to a fairly one-sided game of balloon tennis between Mac and Nikolaj.

‘Having a good time, buddy?’ Jake says, from behind the camera.

‘ _Nikolaj_ ,’ Mac says with a big smile. Amy rubs a crestfallen Jake’s back and wordlessly cuts him a second piece of birthday cake.

‘He knows,’ she says, later, when Mac is napping after all that excitement and they’re tidying away the rest of the party debris.

Jake looks up, but she’s midway through organising Mac’s heap of birthday presents, early prep for the monogrammed thank-you notes. ‘How much you love him. _We_ know.’

He’s buoyed on cake and laughter but it’s love that fills him, overwhelms him.

**iii. a lifelong love letter**

Doug Judy’s wedding falls just after summer solstice.

Mac is initially reluctant to put on a suit, especially once Amy’s lint-roller makes an appearance and it becomes clear this is not a ‘messy’ outfit, but then he sees Jake in his tux and the allure of matching with Daddy wins him over.

‘Liquid fire,’ Jake reaches down to high-five his son.

Amy is a vision in pale pink, inky hair dusting her breastbone, a glimmer of rose at her lip.

‘Wow, Ames,’ Jake whistles - it’s no secret he loves Amy in pink - and nudges Mac conspiratorially. ‘Doesn’t Mommy look super pretty?’

‘Mommy s’always super-pretty,’ Mac says, diplomatically, to which Jake nods in approval and Amy

‘Peraltas giving ya fancy,’ Jake says, hoisting Mac onto his hip and using his free arm to coil around Amy’s waist and hold up the phone camera. ‘Smile!’

x

‘Heads up,’ Jake says, staring intently at the arch, which is pristine white and looped in roses and not very Doug-Judyish at all. ‘I’m almost definitely gonna cry.’

‘Jake, you cried on the way over here.’

‘You shouldn’t have let me watch Notting Hill this morning!’ he exclaims. A pause, and then: ‘are you sure my speech is okay?’

‘It’s great. We liked it.’ Amy gestures to Mac, who’s holding her hand pretty tightly now that there’s a stream of strangers around them. He’s not the most anxious baby, but there are probably more unfamiliar people than he’s ever been around before and Mac’s trembling lip goes straight to his heart.

‘Guess Judy was being serious about going legit.’ Jake says, glancing around at the swathes of creamy white décor. ‘Not a criminal in sight.’

‘Or not.’ Amy says, squinting at the wedding cake as though inspecting it for explosives. ‘I’ve never trusted bad boys.’

‘And yet you married one.’

Jake does, in fact, cry during the ceremony. Mac does pretty well at sitting still and listening once they get him comfortably nestled in Amy’s lap with a soft toy, and Amy’s so engrossed in the poetry that Judy’s bride is reciting for him that she doesn’t notice her husband quietly weeping beside her until Mac helpfully whispers in her ear that ‘Daddy’s shirt is wet’.

Amy gently displaces him onto Jake’s lap, deciding he needs their darling son’s attention more than she does in that moment.

He gives his speech. Judy cries. Judy’s wife, Katherine, doesn’t seem to hate it, which is a victory in itself. Jake’s pretty sure that Mac didn’t really understand most of it, but he definitely knows the word ‘love’ since it’s used as liberally as possible in their household, and that’s all that really counts.

‘All those people were laughing for you, Daddy,’ Mac tells him afterwards.

‘Ah, but I only care about making you and Mommy laugh.’ says Jake, seriously.

‘You’re good at that.’ Mac says, after a moment’s thought. The wonderfully, airy feeling in his chest lasts all the way through the first dance, until he takes a beat to check his phone.

‘It’s just Charles, wanting updates.’ Jake shoves his phone back into his pants pocket and watches Mac blowing bubbles with some of the other kids. ‘And a picture of Nikolaj eating a sandwich. Wanna dance?’

‘Jake, I love you so much, but please no birth story today.’ Amy says, brow furrowed, as she leads him onto the dancefloor.

‘Aww, but Ames, I rode a horse! During a blackout!’

‘I know babe, but we don’t know any of these people.’

Jake grumbles a little - he lives to tell that story, even if it’s just to hype up how incredible his wife was that day - but then Amy’s in his arms and twirling him underneath strings of warm white lights and he’s struck with utter contentment.

‘Daddy, Daddy, you’re dancing without me!’

Jake stops mid-twirl as their son comes pelting onto the dancefloor, arms outstretched and ready, as always, to butt in between his parents.

‘Let me and Mommy finish our dance and then we’ll have as many songs as you want, okay?’

‘Can we do our penguin dance?’ Mac asks.

‘You bet.’

True to his word, Jake spins Amy back into her seat a song or two later and beckons his waiting son over. Mac climbs onto Jake’s feet and wraps tiny starfish hands around Jake’s cuffs while Jake shuffles them around. The ‘penguin dance’, as Amy coined it, is a Saturday morning special in the Peralta household.

Amy takes a glass of champagne and watches them, Mac clinging to Jake like a barnacle and throwing his head back in delight, curls bouncing. There’s not something in the air. The love between them is pure, unadulterated.

‘You have a beautiful family.’ an older woman popping up at her elbow proffers a handkerchief. ‘He’s cute.’ Mac or Jake? Amy puzzles. Judging by the wink, it’s both.

‘They.’ Amy nods and wipes her eyes before Mac can see her crying and assumes his mommy is upset. Even though she wouldn’t mind one of his bear-hugs right about now.

Jake keeps his promise and forgoes the birth story. It’s fine, because he has another favourite topic at the ready.

‘I’m Jake, I’m a _dad_ ,’ she hears him say from their table. ‘That’s my son, Mac, over there, with my wife Amy-’

x

Amy’s sitting with all the kids, completely in her element as Jake recognises her gearing into ‘teacher-mode’. She’s showing two five year olds how to make napkin origami and catches his eye over an unfinished lily. She looks happy as he’s ever seen her, half a flower in one hand, a fork of potatoes for Mac in the other.

She returns to him just before cake is served, giving his hand a reassuring nudge under the table.

‘-and that’s how I convinced my wife to name him after a Die Hard character.’ Jake is telling an elderly man beside him, who stops feigning interest the moment Amy resumes her seat.

‘Making new friends?’ she prods him with a smile.

‘Sorry I’m not as popular as you.’ Jake says, gesturing over to the kids’ table. ‘I bet five year old Amy held the best tea parties ever.’ he adds, affectionately rubbing a finger over her knuckles.

‘My brothers used to ruin them before I could ever finish the whole table.’ Amy shakes her head. ‘Then they became crime scenes.’

Jake laughs and tilts his head over to where Mac is burbling away with another baby. ‘He’s loving all the attention.’

‘Mm-hm, your son through and through.’

‘Except I’m way more suave, Ames, the kid still has cake crumbs around his mouth.’

‘Suave, hm, yeah,’ Amy teases. ‘As if you don’t need more attention than Tinkerbell.’

‘Hey. Peter Pan would be _nothing_ without Tinkerbell.’ Jake interjects, then grins sheepishly. ‘Mac and I watched it on my day off.’

‘That explains why you were mumbling about Captain _Hook_ in your sleep last night, I thought you were having a stroke.’

‘He does look happy, doesn’t he?’ Amy says after a moment, eyes drifting back over to Mac. The relief is subtle, but palpable. Jake knows she doesn’t worry so much about being a good mother these days, that Mac’s happy, cherub-like demeanour is evidence enough for her, but she still takes solace in the little things.

‘What would you think about another one? For reals?’ He pauses as a server sets down two slices of cake in front of them. Strawberries and cream.

‘You want to try again?’ Amy’s words are slow, measured. She watches Jake dig into his cake with admirable gusto.

‘If you’re not ready, that’s fine,’ he says quickly, setting his fork down. There are cake crumbs all about his lip. ‘But…I don’t know. I think it’d be kinda cool. We’d make a pretty respectable Addams Family at Halloween.’

Amy silently looks over at Mac, who’s blowing bubbles, utterly carefree, peering over at his parents every now and then to make sure they’re never too far away. His chin is peppered with cake crumbs around his mouth, just like Jake’s. Every day she’s seeing a trait that she loves in Jake surface in Mac.

She pushes her untouched frosting over to her husband and smiles at him with the slightest glint of tears in her eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘Wait, you’re serious?’ Jake swallows his cake in one gulp and plants both hands on the table. ‘You really mean it?’

‘Yes. Yes, I want another baby with you.’

When he kisses her, it’s light and laced with the sweetness that’s just passed between them.

x

‘Hey man, we’re off.’ Jake jiggles Mac, fast asleep in his arms with a lolling head on his father’s shoulder and a thumb in his mouth. His tiny bowtie is unravelling. ‘This one’s exhausted. Congratulations on the marriage.’

‘So soon? You’re gonna miss all the fun.’ Judy frowns.

‘That’s what we’re counting on.’

‘Well, I’ve got something for you.’ Judy says, reaching into his jacket pocket.

‘Gifts for the guests? That’s a break in tradition, isn’t it?’ Jake looks to Amy for help.

‘Ah, but you’re not just any guest, Peralta. You’re the best man.’ says Judy, holding out a couple of unmarked CDs for Jake to take.

‘An EP for the little man,’ Judy nods at Mac, who has wrapped a sleepy finger around Jake’s bowtie. ‘If ever you can’t get him to sleep. And an extra-special one for Mommy and Daddy…’

Jake takes it gingerly, avoiding Amy’s gaze. ‘Uh, we appreciate it.’

‘We’re never using that, you know that, right?’ Amy informs Jake as soon as Judy’s out of earshot.

Mac’s playlist, however, does make it onto Jake’s phone. And his stakeout mixes. And really any time that he has to work and misses his son; but not just for that reason. He never wants to forget this day - Amy, their son, strawberry frosting. It’s everything he dreamed of when they first started trying and everything he held out for even when it seemed like the universe was against them. And the real thing is so much better.

**iv. keeping up my head as my heart falls out of sight**

The first summer of Jake and Amy as, well, _Jake and Amy_ , somehow manages to rewrite everything Jake thought he knew about adult relationships. In the best way possible.

When he tries to cook her dinner and burns it, Amy just opens the windows, lights the happiness candle he got her two Secret-Santas ago, and sends him out for ice cream.

‘Of course you’re a mint-choc-chip girl, Santiago,’ he rolls his eyes. ‘Only you would want toothpaste for dessert.’ but really it’s just another thing about Amy he’s mentally lodging.

His general clutter and knickknacks find their way onto walls, cabinets; anywhere a doily can be sacrificed.

‘Now people might actually think someone other than an eighty nine year old woman lives here.’ he says, playfully, but he doesn’t really care about anything except his new toothbrush next to hers in the bathroom. Amy’s cost upward of a hundred dollars and has three massage settings and Jake’s has bristles that have seen better days but its presence has a permanence that makes his heart skip.

When he runs the dryer for too long and shrinks his hoodie, he can’t find it in himself to be frustrated, because Amy wordlessly claims it as her own.

‘I always liked you in blue,’ Jake admits, and for a split-second, panics that he’s come on too strong or said too much. It’s his curse. But Amy kisses him, a ‘boop’ on the nose, and wears blue blouses three out of the next five workdays. He’ll tease her about it the in years to come (‘that’s so lame, you _lo-oved_ me’).

He likes batman-shaped cereal but smiles at Amy over her oatmeal with a milk moustache and when he writes their (their!) grocery list she reminds him to ‘put bat-bites down’ and Jake is giddy, giddy with happiness.

His mattress is cheap and sags and there’s a patch of blue that he has no explanation for. But when they have their first fight he spends more money she knows he’s probably ever had at one time on a new mattress because he doesn’t want to lose her, and suddenly Amy couldn’t care less about orange soda stains. The day begins with them bickering over thread count and ends with him fucking her recklessly into the sunrise.

Afterwards, he somehow stays at her apartment for two weeks straight and neither of them realise it’s been that long until Jake recycles a pair of socks for the third time. Given that she’s never had anyone stay in her apartment for that long without getting the urge to kick them out (Teddy was a two-day casualty), it becomes pretty clear in Amy’s mind that Jake is here to stay. In her home, her bed, in her life.

‘I can go back to mine tonight.’ Jake says, with unconvincingly fake nonchalance. Amy just shakes her head and stuffs more of his clothes into her washing machine, but it’s not until she pencils in a column for him on her calendar that he really lets himself believe that they’re in this for the long-run.

That night they make out on the couch for half an hour until Jeopardy comes on and Jake bets Amy he can catch more popcorn in his mouth than she can - he’s right, of course - and then Amy falls asleep on him half-way through an ad break. It’s the most domestic he’s ever been with a girlfriend before and all he can think about is how glad he took the leap and somehow ended up in this reality.

Some evenings, it’s that sticky kind of warmth and there’s nothing to do but crumple onto the bed and stare sleepily at the ceiling.

Amy will talk Jake through the occasional existential crisis or Jake will listen to Amy raving about the next seminar she wants to take him to. There’s no suggestion of sex, just the sweet comfort of hanging out with his best friend who also happens to be his girlfriend and, he’s starting to realise, the love of his life.

‘You know…waffles are just pancakes with abs?’ he mumbles into her ear one such evening, when she’s draped half-across him and drifting in and out of sleep, waking up every few minutes to kiss his jaw or stroke his hair.

Sometimes he does it just for the pleasure of hearing her laugh, sometimes because he truly adores the way her brain works and more often than not she completes his 2am thoughts with something brilliant he’d never have considered. It’s only been a month or two but that’s enough to confirm what six days suggested - forever.

**v. i believe in a thing called love**

Saturday mornings in late summer are Amy’s favourite.

Over the years, her weekends blurred into one: frantic overtime shifts; art gallery trips; late breakfasts with her father: hot coffee, like velvet, and pan tostado, still warm from the oven.

Nowadays, with a husband and a three year old, Saturday mornings are strictly reserved for cartoons in bed. Jake wakes up early and coaxes Amy out of sleep with coffee and eggs while Mac tucks into his fruit and milk, summer’s favourite.

Jake glugs maple syrup straight from the bottle (‘it saves washing up, Ames!’) but placates her by brushing his - and Mac’s - teeth straight away when she tells him she won’t kiss him with a mouth full of cavities.

‘Mac! Looney Tunes!’

The pitter-patter of little feet on the hardwood precedes the bedroom door swinging open and Mac - with a little assistance from Jake - clambers onto the bed and wedges himself in-between his parents. He reaches for Amy, ready for tv and morning cuddles, fingers sticky pink with strawberry juice.

Amy takes the opportunity to play with his curls; they’re getting long now, but it feels wrong to cut them somehow. She knows from poring over Karen’s photo albums that they’re just like younger Jake’s.

Once he’s finished his morning bottle, they send Mac off to get dressed. Amy takes the time to pop in her contacts and brush out her hair. Jake likes to watch her, savouring those moments that are just for the two of them. Having a baby, they’ve found, has only made them appreciate these things more.

When Mac pads back in, proudly proclaiming he’s got dressed ‘all by his-self!’, Jake starts laughing. For all he likes to think he’s pretty on it with laundry these days, but the proof otherwise is right in front of him.

‘Look, Mama,’ Mac beams, waving one mismatched sock, then the other. ‘Just like Daddy!’

x

They make the most of the heatwave with trips to the beach.

While Mac and Amy brown, Jake burns despite three coats of suncream and the sun-hat he’s stolen from Amy, but as always, she’s there with her after-sun and a second ice cream cone to take away the sting.

Mac loves his shark water-wings, but not as much as he loves the water, begging Jake to help him jump over every wave and milking Amy’s perfectionism when it comes to sandcastle making.

‘Every sandcastle needs a princess.’ Jake nudges Amy, but Mac isn’t having any of it.

‘No, Daddy, _I’m_ the princess,’ he insists. Who are they to refuse him?

Some days they stay there until the sun is bleeding out onto the horizon, a runny eye of oranges and golds. Mac falls asleep on the way home, cheeks and feet still speckled with sand.

Then, dinnertime: Mac, a blessing by its very definition, is up for trying about anything. Of course, this proves grounds for hilarity. One eve Jake manages to persuade him to try a lime and falls about laughing at the look on his baby’s face: confusion, revulsion, contemplation that rings of Amy.

‘You think that’s bad, wait until you try carrots,’ Jake advises him.

‘Oh no, I’m not having to trick both of you into eating your five-a-day.’ Amy calls over her shoulder.

It doesn’t matter though, because Mac is already lifting the lime to his mouth for a second bite (‘Why? Why would you eat that again?’ Jake exclaims, lowering his phone camera).

This spawns a TikTok series entitled ‘Dinnertime with Mac’ for the viewing pleasure of the Santiago brothers, complete with a rating system out of ten. Mango, apple and peanut butter all get the thumbs up…cauliflower and celery, not so much.

Amy’s initial objections are quite quickly crushed when Jake finds her deep into productivity TikTok that same evening.

‘When he’s old enough we’ll do a joint one.’ Jake tells Amy, and he’s so thrilled by the whole thing, yet another little piece of happiness he gets to share with his son that she just leaves a kiss on his forehead and slides him the fruit bowl.

The best dinners, though, are the spontaneous ones.

‘Can we have pancakes? Please? Breakfast for dinner?’ Mac asks, looking beseechingly up at his parents.

‘Great idea! Breakfast for dinner, buddy,’ Jake confirms with a fist-pump.

‘I don’t know how to make pancakes.’ Amy confesses. ‘Well, I know how. I just...can’t.’

‘Good thing I do.’ at her sceptical look, Jake grins toothily. ‘Hey, trust me. Pancakes were a staple of my diet after my dad left. Only thing I knew how to make other than grilled cheese and mayo-nut spoonsies.’

They tuck Mac into his tiny, dinosaur-patterned apron and let him measure out flour, eggs, sugar. Jake is wonderfully patient with him, just laughs when he gets shell in the mixture and flicks on the stereo with an elbow so they can dance while whisking the batter.

‘Mommy, don’t you want to help us?’

‘The last time your mommy made me pancakes she accidentally made me lava instead.’ Jake says, managing to keep a straight face.

‘You ate them!’

‘It was like a week into our relationship, I wanted to impress you.’

‘This from a man who once tried to use my hair straighteners to make grilled cheese.’

‘Mommy, pancakes.’ Mac pipes up, not happy at his neglection from this conversation.

‘‘How about…your very own bowl?’ Amy drops it in front of Mac with a peck to the head.

For a split second Jake wonders if they’re going to spend the night sponging batter off of every thinkable surface, but Mac meticulously copies Amy, looking up every few seconds to ensure that they are stirring in tandem (‘Like this, Mama?’) Jake hoists him onto a stool so he can help Amy pour the mixture into the pan and Mac’s little gasps when the batter starts bubbling tug at his heart.

‘Can I flip please, Daddy?’

‘On three.’ Jake says, closing his hands around Mac’s tiny fists. ‘Ready? One…two…three!’

‘It worked!’ Mac claps. ‘Mommy, look!’

‘They look delicious, baby.’

Mac’s hands are sticky with batter and there’s a trail of fruit juice down his neck which should make bath-time interesting, but -

‘Best dinner ever,’ he declares, tipping his clean plate, and just like that, it’s all worth it. Another happy memory for down the road.

In the evenings they fall onto the couch, a tangle of limbs and the blanket Karen crocheted for Mac. Often he’s grumpy and doesn’t want to go to bed without them (‘you and Daddy get to stay up!’). Amy will make hot milk and Jake will offer up a new bedtime story or start a chasing game around the apartment which generally tires Mac out enough to whisper ‘okay Daddy, you can tuck me in now’.

Love has changed Amy’s routine, in places unravelled it, but it’s difficult to mind when this is what it’s brought her. Not unlike the love she feels for Jake, it’s crept up on her slowly, this different kind of normal. She might wake up to Jake and Mac building a pillow-fort around her and demanding that she stay put until they’ve finished (‘you’re holding it all together, Mama!’) or to find one of her three alarm clocks has been retired to make way for the baby-monitor. It’s the best.

**Author's Note:**

> first time writing smut lol pls be nice 
> 
> jake dancing with mac on his feet like ross in friends is really all i need


End file.
